


Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Intense, Light Bondage, Rough Sex, Wolf Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miraena "Mira" Jurafort came to Skyrim with one intention and one intention alone: get away from her family. Well, she succeeded.</p><p>Crossing the border to Skyrim seems completely harmless outside of context, but the second she stepped over the threshold, her whole life changed.</p><p>She's been through the runner plenty of times, suffered a beaten and battered heart along the way, and now she's found herself in the folds of the Dark Brotherhood. She's gotten used to turning heads, but one set of eyes in particular can't seem to tear away from her, and it's making her question just how much she can take.</p><p>Her primitive wolf blood isn't making this any easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the early post, I hit the post without preview button instead of preview before I was done with it.
> 
> Anyway, leave your feedback!

The day she walked into the Sanctuary was the first time that the color blue didn't give Arnbjorn a headache.

He pegged her for a thief right away. Her armor gave that away first thing. It is a blue-grey color, sleeveless, with a hood and several pouches and pockets and buckles. He could only guess what she kept hidden in there.

He watches her speak with Nazir. When she walks away with a fresh batch of contracts, her eyes automatically fall on Arnbjorn. Well, good to know her nose works.

She traipses over and asks what he can tell her about himself. The question catches him off guard.

"I could ask the same of you, for you are more than mortal. You are moon-born. You are wolf," he says, appraising her short, curvy form. "So, you're a Companion then? I can't imagine you got your gift anywhere else."

Mira nods and crosses her arms over her chest, lifting a brow. I answer her question before she can get it out.

"Oh, yes, I used to be brother to the Companions. They found my methods... unsettling. The Dark Brotherhood, obviously, feels differently."

She smiles a bit. "Interesting. You needn't tell me this, you know. I do have a nose, also. It matters little to me where you got your blood. Is there anything more worthwhile you'd like to share?" She quirks a brow at me, and I think my knees get a little weaker for a moment.

"Here's all you need to know: I'm a werewolf. I like killing things. I love Astrid. I hate annoying people. And the color blue gives me a headache." He narrows his eyes at her armor.

She looks down at her gear and shrugs. "Haven't gotten around to changing yet. Guess you lot move pretty quickly from the door to the altar."

Arnbjorn gapes at her dumbly. "What?"

Mira waves her hand dismissively. "Nothing. Just an expression. I guess I should go get changed."

"Yeah, you do that."

-

"Congratulations. You slaughtered an emaciated beggar in cold blood. Here's your payment."

Mira grimaces and accepts the coin pouch from Nazir. It didn't seem so bad until he put it that way. Mm, oh well. Coin's coin and the poor fool's already dead.

Arnbjorn stands at his forge, beating the bends out of a red-hot sword blade. Mira doesn't notice how his eyes follow her as she walks through the Sanctuary, chatting with the various members of the family. She's overly curious about each of them, wanting to know things about everyone and sharing contract stories. Maybe that's just the social Breton in her.

Only Veezara has dared to comment on how Arnbjorn can't tear his eyes from the smooth curves of Mira's full figure, complemented by the skin-tight, red and black armor. Damn, who's idea was that?

"A blind man could see that your eyes are straying from your wife, Arnbjorn," Veezara scolds.

"My eyes are my business, lizard," Arnbjorn snarls, hammering too hard in his distraction and putting a sharp bend in the blade. "Damn it!"

"Arnbjorn," Veezara snaps, "I have known both you and Astrid a very long time. I know how you care for her. I trust you to do the right thing."

Arnbjorn glares at the lizard as he turns and walks back to the other side of the Sanctuary and sits in his usual meditative position. Arnbjorn shakes his head and turns back to his work, but not before scanning the room over briefly to glance over Mira by the pool. He can't seem to stop himself from watching her dip a comb in the water and brush it through her long, raven locks. The water causes her hair to take on a wavy texture, with some instances of small ringlet curls. When she's finished, she pushes her hair behind her shoulders and the inky waves cascade down her back to her waist. Arnbjorn absently wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through that hair, what it would smell like, what kind of moans he could draw from her if he pulled it..

Damn it. Veezara was right.

-

Mira trills her fingertips over the surface of the water in the small pool in the Sanctuary. It is around midnight or later and everyone's gone to sleep, but Mira is restless as always. Her beast blood keeps her from getting much sleep.

"Can't sleep?"

Mira jumps and whirls around, giving a deep sigh when she sees Arnbjorn. "Damn it, you scared me."

He grins and crouches next to her. "Apologies, pup."

"I'm not a pup," she retorts, "and, no, I can't sleep. Seems like I haven't been able to in a long time."

"It's the blood. It boils at night, when the moon is out, and it keeps your muscles from relaxing so you can sleep."

Mira frowns. "Well, I knew it was the beast blood, but I didn't realize that was why. Hm. There's no way around it?"

Arnbjorn shrugs. "Festus and Babette have tried brewing me up some things to help but nothing works. I've only ever found one real solution, but it only works if another wolf does it."

"Oh? What's that?"

Arnbjorn grins and gestures for Mira to face her back to him. She eyes him suspiciously, but does so anyway. He takes her long, luscious hair in his hands and smiles softly, feeling that silky smooth texture of it. She must have just got done washing it again. He pushes it to the side and over her right shoulder, and her small hands reach up to hold it in place.

Arnbjorn places his hands on her shoulders and kneads the balls of his palms into her muscles. He picks up a rhythm and massages her shoulders deeply, working out the knotted up tension in her muscles. Mira rolls her head to the side and lets out a soft moan, and that almost undoes Arnbjorn completely right there.

"Wow, that feels good," she hums, biting her lip.

"I've never had another wolf to practice on. If I do this to anyone else, they think I'm trying to break their neck," Arnbjorn chuckles.

"Astrid," Mira says.

"Yes, Astrid."

They both fall silent after that, save for Mira's soft moans as Arnbjorn massages her shoulders. He pushes the top of her tunic down further to expose more of her shoulders, and only very intentionally revealing more of her flawless skin. He doesn't seem to realize that he's leaning forward, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her hair, her skin. She smells like lavender and Nirnroot and something else he can't identify. Before he realizes what he's doing, he touches his lips to the back of her neck, causing her to shiver.

"Arnbjorn," Mira whispers, "you're married. We can't."

Arnbjorn pulls back and drops his hands, frowning deeply. "I know, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Mira gives a crooked smile. "Hey, I didn't say stop. I might actually get some sleep tonight."

Arnbjorn pulls the top of her tunic back up her shoulders and pulls her hair back, braiding it deftly. Even bound, her hair still reaches all the way down to her waist. "Go get some rest, Mira."

"Thank you... for-"

"Yep, any time," Arnbjorn interrupts her, standing and turning to head to his room, leaving Mira alone by the pool.

Astrid is already in bed, as usual. Arnbjorn crawls into bed beside her and wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. He closes his eyes and takes in the smell of her skin. Juniper berries, her favorite, and leather.

"I love you," he softly whispers, his breath hot on her ear. His lips say it to his wife, but his heart says it to the raven-haired girl by the pool.


	2. Chasing Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arnbjorn and Mira try to have a platonic friendship, but it seems like their connection is only going to grow. With Astrid consumed by the Emperor contract, Arnbjorn continues to lean on Mira for companionship.
> 
> Mira has found a friend in Gabriella, the Dark Elf assassin with a dark humor to match. She understands Mira's beast blood troubles in a way that only Arnbjorn can beat.
> 
> But keeping close counsel is dangerous when you're practically having an affair with the leader's husband...

"Ha ha ha! The news is everywhere! Vittoria Vici, butchered at her own wedding!" Astrid laughs, throwing her head back.

Mira grins wickedly. "She bled like a stuck pig. A shame about the dress."

Astrid laughs even harder. "A shame, indeed!"

Astrid assigns Mira the next contract, and Mira heads into the Sanctuary for some rest. The wedding took a lot out of her. She spots Veezara by the forge, immersed in what looks to be a deep conversation with Arnbjorn, and heads over to thank him.

"You can't keep on like this, Arnbjorn. Astrid is going to-" Veezara hisses, then cuts himself short when he notices Mira approaching.

Mira raises a brow. "Astrid is going to what? What's going on?" She glances at Arnbjorn.

Arnbjorn glares at Veezara. "Nothing's going on, Astrid isn't going to do anything."

Mira looks between the two, stunned. Veezara sighs, shakes his head, and turns to slink back to the other side of the Sanctuary. Arnbjorn watches his departure sourly.

Mira crosses her arms. "What was that about?" she demands.

"Nothing," Arnbjorn says stubbornly, turning back to the blade he'd been sharpening with a whet stone.

"Arnbjorn," Mira scolds. "I can tell when you're lying."

Arnbjorn scowls. "Yeah, right. He thinks what we're doing is some sort of scandal. Like there's something for Astrid to find out about and she's going to get hurt."

Mira drops her arms and stares at him with concern. "Is she?"

He looks up at her and his face softens instantly. "There's nothing for her to be worried about. This is nothing."

The words sting both of them as soon as they're said. And they both know how false the words are.

"Right. Of course. It's nothing." Mira kicks a pebble with her foot and looks around the room awkwardly, unsure what to say.

"Want to go for a run?" Arnbjorn suggests with a mischievous grin.

Mira grins in return and nods. Arnbjorn discards the blade and whet stone and they both turn and head out of the Sanctuary. Astrid, bent over her strategy table, doesn't even notice.

-

The night air blows through Mira's fur as she and Arnbjorn race through the Falkreath forest. Arnbjorn lops his tongue out and tastes the air, searching for the scent of potential game.

He picks up the scent of an elk, or several, and nudges Mira with his shoulder. She's already picked up the scent herself, and veers off to the left to chase it. Arnbjorn grins wolfishly.

In wolf form, there is no need to be stealthy. Nothing can outrun a wolf. Werewolves are built for speed and power, the ultimate killing machines. In no time, Mira and Arnbjorn have fallen on the small herd of three elk, two adults and one youth. They let the youth get away, as it wouldn't be much of a meal and they have no need to chase the weakest of the herd, taking the adults for themselves.

They continue to run after they finish with their meal. Arnbjorn can't seem to take his eyes off Mira's form. She's smaller than him with a more feminine build, but she is just as strong and just as fearsome.

The moist forest air is a refreshing change from the dank humidity of the Sanctuary. Though cold doesn't affect werewolves, the room somehow manages to put a chill in Arnbjorn's bones. Mira seems to feel the same. The adrenaline from running pulses through their veins, exhilarating.

 _Astrid will never understand this..._ Arnbjorn thinks bitterly.

He thinks back to the first time he suggested to Astrid the idea of her becoming a wolf as well. She wrinkled her nose at him and said, "You think I want to smell like a wet dog?"

As if that wasn't a smack in the face enough.

Arnbjorn wonders absently what Astrid would be like as a wolf. Her fur would be light, like her hair, but her build would be thicker than Mira's, like her human body. Astrid's body is more thick and fit, due to her Nordic genes. Mira is petite but stout, a true Breton girl. Her werewolf form is impressive and, unsurprisingly, incredibly attractive.

Arnbjorn shakes the thought from his mind. Stubborn and unappreciative as she is, Astrid is still his wife.

-

After their adrenaline runs dry, they come to realize something they hadn't thought through. They are still about an hour's walk from Sanctuary... and neither of them have any clothes. Neither of them have any particular desire to eat again, and their beast blood will shift them back soon. Arnbjorn can practically see Mira's blush beneath her fur.

 _I, um... I could make a shift out of the moss, maybe?_ Mira's thoughts drift into Arnbjorn's mind, the way they communicate in wolf form.

_I think I smell a fire. We are probably closer to Falkreath than we think. We could sneak into the inn?_

_Sounds good. Let's scout it._

He nods and they head toward the smell of the fire. Sure enough, they come up behind the Dead Man's Drink. It's nearing dusk, the sun escaping beneath the horizon. It'll be easy enough for them to sneak inside.

Mira feels a stirring in her core half a heartbeat before Arnbjorn does. They look at each other as wolves, eyebrows lifted, then blink and suddenly they are staring at each other's human faces. Arnbjorn's eyes immediately go downward, drinking in the sight of her full breasts and the soft curve of her hips.. and, of course, the tuft of black hair on the mound of her Nether region.

Mira's whole body flushes red and she turns away from him, burying her face in her hands. He can't help when he gets a full view of her plump backside.

"Close your eyes!" she yelps at him.

Arnbjorn snaps out of it and turns around, looking around at the forest innocently. "Uhm, sorry about that."

Mira sighs and flees toward the inn, creeping around to the front. Arnbjorn can hear the door open and close.

Inside, Mira scopes the room. The hearth is burning low and all of the doors are closed. The innkeeper looks up from scrubbing the countertop at the sound of the door closing behind Mira. Her lips quirk up in a smirk and she jabs her thumb toward a room to the left.

"Erm, right over there. Ten gold pieces. Pay me later. There are clothes in the dresser," she says. Quickly, she adds with a laugh, "I don't want to know."

Mira blushes and smiles, scuttling into the room. "Thank you!"

"Yep," says the innkeeper, returning to her scrubbing.

Mira digs through the drawers of the wardrobe and pulls out a soft tunic and cotton pants. They pants are a little loose but the tunic is a little tight. She ties a long string of rope around her waist to keep the pants up.

"Really?" Mira hears the innkeeper say, along with a cackle. "She's in there. Clothes in the dresser. Again, don't want to know."

A moment later, the door opens and Arnbjorn, with a bundle of moss wrapped around his lower zone, stumbles into the room and closes the door behind him. The innkeeper shakes her head and chuckles what sounds like, "What a night."

Mira rolls her eyes and points to the wardrobe, turning her back to him. "Help yourself. Green's a good color on you."

"Shut it," Arnbjorn groans, peeling the bundle off and pulling out a tunic and pair of pants identical to Mira's except in size. His are larger than hers, but still skin-tight. "Alright, I'm decent."

Mira turns and her eyes widen. The fabric clings to his muscular and overly... blessed... figure very comfortably. Her cheeks grow warm again. "You call that decent?"

Arnbjorn shrugs. Mira turns and examines the bed, then walks over and crawls onto it, curling into a ball. Arnbjorn lifts a brow.

"You want to stay?" he asks.

"I'm full and exhausted. I need to head out for a contract tomorrow anyway."

Arnbjorn eyes her suspiciously, then crawls onto the bed beside her. He tries to avoid contact, but the bed is tiny and they end up practically flush against each other, back to back. Mira's cheeks and Arnbjorn's ears share a shade of red.

Arnbjorn can't stop himself from appreciating the proximity. It feels nice being close to Mira. It feels.. safe? It's odd to say that he feels safe, given his general role as a protector, but it's a warm feeling he has when he's touching Mira and _safe_ is the only word that fits. He absently wonders if Mira feels the same way.

And though he doesn't know it, she absolutely does.


End file.
